There is a grace that permeates through every nook and cranny of my home when this pot is brewing in the kitchen. It is the thing that gives my body a sense of safety and nurture. It is the meal that I call home, and whenever I catch a whiff of the precious spices simmering along with the marrow bones, my neck instantly arches up and my nose points up into the air. "Yes, a fresh pot is brewing". An engaged and knowing smile crosses my heart and I know I must give in to the temptation to what Vietnamese call Phở. There must be some magical formula that causes the hard-working people of Vietnam to participate in the ritual of eating this morning, noon and night. It is too good to save for one time of the day, and if your cravings dictate when you eat, you too may…